


Crimson Failure

by smallquestionsasked



Series: Crimson Protégé [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-12 22:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19585459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallquestionsasked/pseuds/smallquestionsasked
Summary: The Witches of Dathomir are a well kept secret in terms of the known galaxy, for even Palpatine knows not to disturb them for the danger they pose to his idealized world. Hidden on this rancor infested rock in the Outer Rim, the planet exists as a nexus of the Force, and every girl-child born on its soil a conduit for it. Makes for a rather convenient weapon, should one utilize it. However, these women are feral, but have no wish to leave their home, and deal with any that threaten to tarnish what they have built.





	Crimson Failure

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone reading this, this work is essentially part of a series of drabbles helping me get over my writer's block and also to help build the world around my Star Wars RPG character. Because I just love to waste my time on this versus the book I'm trying to write that will actually make me money. (shrugs)  
> Also, fuck this posting system it is such a paaaaaiiiiiin

Dawn in the valley where the Misty Falls Clans makes its home is an eventful time. Those that had moon-duty have been released from their posts, wandering back to their dwellings to break their fasts and rest before the moons rise and they’re called to duty again. Those that have risen with the sun are active, heading out to collect water from the great rushing currents that protect their home, digging around the calmer river beds for tubers, and setting nets out to collect small fish.  
Hours stretch past the dawn and the valley becomes more active. Children are out, heeding the words of their elders while also having fun and causing mischief. They dash and duck around the small communal cooking pits, stealing smoked fish and slices of fresh cut fruit carried in from the trees to the east. Voices yell good-naturedly after them, a few of the smaller troublemakers getting caught by their mothers and the matrons of the tribe, squirming in an attempt to get away and rejoin their older playmates.  
Vira La, first daughter and heir of the Matron of the Clan, has been up for many hours working diligently. Although not specifically her work, she joined the early morning fishers standing thigh deep in calm pools that branch out to rejoin the great rivers. A lifetime of practice has taught her patience as she stands with the others, great net held at the ready in both hands. The bait, prepared last night and brought out with the first crimson rays of dawn, has attracted a fair amount of prey, and Vira waits for the perfect moment. Numerous smaller fish dart forth and feast on it, but she is waiting for the larger ones, maybe a curious salamander or two. Her diligence is rewarded when not one, not two, but three queen salamanders slink over to the bait trap. Numerous fish have joined them, as well as a few soft-shelled prawns.  
One with the water, she moves, barely disturbing the mirrored surface of the pool. She turns and flicks her hands out, hand woven net flaring forth and settling on top. The fish panic and attempt to fly up and out of the water, only to be caught by the woven fibers. The salamanders panic as well, but Vira is strong and capable, wrestling the net and keeping it steady as the once serene water is now chaotic, the surface shattered and displaced in the frenzy the fish are putting themselves through.  
Others see what Vira has accomplished and a few head into the water to join her, able hands catching and dragging the great haul through the water until it rest solely on the rocky bed that brackets the river and pools. Voices congratulate Vira on her catch, as the queen salamanders are rich in fat and their skin produces a toxin that the clan can use to coat their weapons for an extra advantage in hunting large game.  
In a smaller separate net, Vira transfers the largest of the queen salamanders and hauls it over to the cave structure she and her family call their home. The creature thrashes in its confines, hissing unhappily at its treatment.  
The inside of the first cave is small, hidden in such a way that unless one knew what to look for, they would just pass right by it. This small entryway opens into a larger antechamber kept warm by a blazing fire in the centre. The surrounding rock has been chipped and carved away, smoothened by hands and years of people to reflect the comfort it holds as a home. The walls are covered in rush fiber tapestries depicting their history, with the skulls of past Matron’s favourite mounts taking place of pride around the room. The space branches off the back to the sleeping quarters of her family. It is a large space, as historically the Matron’s family was always a large one. However, two generations back, a great sickness had swept through the clans which all but decimated their numbers. Sprawling families were left but a shadow of themselves, and many ancestral cradles have still remained empty. Currently the space is home to the Matron, her mother, Vira herself and also that of her twin sister.  
Her mother had awoken far before the dawn, heading out to prepare for the day, evident by her pallet, neatly made, was cold when Vira woke up. Towards the left side of the space illuminated softly by the natural crystals growing in the ceiling, was a large partition painted with a rancor mount in excellent detail. Behind it in the shadow of the canvas was where Nen’tari, Vira’s twin, slept. Sighing deeply at the girl’s lack of responsibility, Vira walked over, calling out to her.  
“Nen, it’s time to wake up.”  
No answer could be heard, so Vira dropped the hissing salamander, comfortable with the fact it couldn’t escape anywhere. She walked around the partition, heading to the lump buried beneath a small mountain of furs used for sleep. She shook it.  
“Nen, come on, there’s much to do today.”  
Still no response.  
Irritated, Vira reached down to rip the covers off, hissing in surprise when all she found beneath were a few misshapen baskets, a pastime of her sister’s.  
Vira recalled seeing it set up like this last night, assuming her sister had gone to bed early. Their mother always joined them late, busy with her duties as Matron and leader of their people.  
“By the stars Nen,” Vira hissed, grabbing the equally irate lizard from where it was trying to slither away and stomped through the cave system, checking to see if maybe she was in the bathing chamber. The singular warm pool left the air damp with heat, but no one could be seen. Heading back into the front section, Vira took note of one of their family’s domestic slaves, notable for his thick woven collar dyed a vivid blue, a rare dye for their people that showed his exclusivity as a servant of the Matron. Also helped that he was her mother’s favourite bed slave and had been for the past six years.  
“Korrus, have you seen my sister at all?”  
The zabrak male looked up upon hearing his name, offering a deep bow in greeting. He was paler than many of his kind, with six nubbed horns crowning him and his night black hair tied back in an intricate plait. He wore simple tan leathers like many of the tribespeople, but his were cut in an almost fashionable pattern that Vira knew her mother liked. It accentuated his slim figure, diamonds cut into the material to show hints of skin suitable for a pleasure slave.  
“No mistress, I have not.”  
Vira sighed, previously content mood diminishing.  
“If you are not doing anything of note for the Matron, can you please skin and prepare this for leather. Also, try and extract as much of the poison as you can. The Matron of the Whispering Canon’s clan will be celebrating her 100th name-day, and a think a pair of water-boots would make a suitable gift from our people.” Although easy for her to carry and handle, passing the queen salamander to the male proved difficult for him. Although he was tall, the creature proved willy, sensing his hesitation and thrashing about in an attempt for freedom. The lizard itself was well over a metre from nubbed snout to the tip of its tail, and nearly half that it width. Korrus lost his grip and the thing landed with a wet smack against the woven mats covering the floor.  
Not having patience, Vira pulled a small quartz knife from her belt and slammed it down on the beast’s head, slicing through skin and skull. It twitched twice before going still, its blood viscous as it started to sink through the yellowed mats.  
“Clean that up while you’re at it.”  
Vira stalked through the rest of the system, nodding to the guards posted outside the Matron’s quarters. The two women nodded back, rush straw masks obscuring most of their faces but Vira recognized them based on their eyes. It was the Jo-Ni sisters, famous for their deadly accuracy with spears and their weirdly colourless eyes.  
Vira made her rounds of the clan, nodding when appropriate and stopping when someone had a question or query. Eventually she made her way past the edges of their village, dancing through the perpetual red fog that surrounded and protected their home. It is what allowed them to have permanent shelters, as none of the raiding parties of the other tribes could navigate it and avoid the series of traps that surrounded them. It was a twofold system, keeping enemies and intruders out while keeping those not meant to leave, in.  
Vira danced around the traps, ears careful for any sound of enemy or intruder as one could not trust their eyes in this situation. Eventually the mists started to thin out and the groves of fruit trees the clan cultivated came into view. Talis Taramoor, lead forager, stood back with her bow relaxed, keeping a watch on her crews as they went about checking the tree over for parasites and picking the fruit that seemed ready. The fruits from the trees were small, with three fitting in the palm of a person’s hand and a deep blood red. They were sweet though, and coveted amongst the people for their rarity. Not much sweetness grew out in the wilds of their homeland, as it was a harsh place where only the strong survived, or the extremely lucky.  
“Talis,” Vira called out in greeting, stopping her journey and holding back as the woman responded with a cocked bow in her direction. Recognition flashed across her dark eyes as she lowered her weapon, re-sheathing the arrow into her braided quiver and giving a deep bow to the heir.  
“Greetings, first daughter.”  
“Greetings,” Vira responded to the older woman, turning and watching their people as they worked. It was mostly labour slaves with a few of the foragers to work amongst their numbers. The labourers had muscle on their side, carrying the heavier loads while the foragers continued to inspect the trees. The fruits would be boiled down in large cauldrons and mixed with a tart sap, eventually drained, removing the pits and stored in earthenware jars for the upcoming season.  
“Did my sister by chance volunteer to be part of your numbers?”  
Talis laughed; a deep, throaty sound.  
“I take it she disappeared again?”  
“Aye,” Vira responded, reaching over to help an apprentice forager readjust a basket she was carrying. The girl couldn’t have been older than eight, yet she carried herself well and her eyes blazed with a determination to prove herself. Admirable. Talis smiled at Vira’s actions, giving a sharp whistle between her teeth that caught the attention of the closest foragers.  
“First water break,” she yelled out, which in turn was echoed and repeated down the line. Collective people sat beneath the shaded trees, drinking deeply from water skins and stretching sore muscles.  
“She is normally close to one of my journeymen, I can see if the girl has seen her,” offered Talis, only turning to speak to her group after Vira gave her nod of approval. The older woman walked up to the middle-aged worker, whispering something in her ear and the other woman gave a sharp nod, running off into the trees. A few moments later she returned with a painted youth in tow. The girl had unusually pale skin for their people, something she covered with a deep red paint every morning in stylized patterns across her skin. Today she was done up in scales of varying size covering her bare arms and legs, reaching up her neck and over the bottom half of her face. It was beautiful work if a bit wasteful.  
“Xerunia, greetings,” called Vira, grasping the young woman’s forearm in greeting. The girl responded, offering her bi coloured eyes in a quick flit before lowering them in submission.  
“Greetings first daughter,” she murmured, stepping back when her arm was released. “I was told you wished to speak with me.”  
“Yes. Have you seen my sister recently? I know the two of you are close.”  
Pale complexion betraying her, the girl’s face flushed under the ruddy paint of her scales.  
“W-well, not close exactly, but to answer your question, no ma’am, I haven’t seen her recently. She’s been oddly flighty of late.”  
Vira frowned at this, dismissing the poor girl with the ridiculous crush. While it was not unheard of for the first family to take the occasional lover-of-note aside from a pleasure slave, Nen’tari had never shown any regard for this, abstaining in even their clan’s fertility festivals. She would disappear into the woods, doing whatever she decided was of importance that day.  
Vira thanked Talis for her time, heading along the misted borders to the wide planes where the Rancor herds were kept this time of year. Cresting the great hill, Vira could see the ridges and plateaus marking the herd’s territory. Upon crossing it, a great thrumming could be heard through the earth. The ground shook as a dust cloud could be seen travelling her way, hiding the numbers within.  
The cloud stopped a distance out and the sound of a mournful horn blew across the plains. From the settled debris came a full grown rancor with three smaller ones flanking her, one being a juvenile male by the looks of his nubbed tusks. Atop the large female rode a figured completely covered in leather armour. Vira waved, and the figure waved back. The mount lowered her body and the figure gracefully dismounted, lifting their helmet as they made their way over. Beneath the thick hide armour was a deceptively youthful face, skin dark like polished obsidian, with eyes of bright jasper. Her white teeth contrasted sharply when she gave Vira an easy smile, and their forearms clasped.  
“T’la-tula, it’s good to see you.”  
“Vira, it’s been a while! It’s been months since you’ve come out this way.”  
“Yes, well, unlike you the rancors have never settled truly easy with me without the need for Mother Allya’s spells,” jested Vira, earning her a laugh from the darker woman.  
“Too true, and a pity at that. They are remarkable creatures, and loyal beyond all else. Just look at Sineth, a proud mother of three, nearly unheard of, yet she does the herd proud.”  
The large female rumbled deeply in response to her name, turning her deep eyes like pits to Vira. The woman walked up and offered her palm to the great beast, which took great inhales of her scent. One of the youths slinked beside its mother, trying to sniff at the girls palm as well. A small hiss of warning had the little female scurrying back to the safety of behind its mother.  
“Curious, how did she manage to care and carry three cubs at a time?” inquired Vira, not breaking eye-contact with the large female.  
“Funny enough, it was one of the smaller males that helped. I thought Sineth was going to eat the poor bastard when he tried to come close to her after she gave birth, but she seemed oddly patient. Placed a cub on his back, which was hilarious considering he’s barely half Sineth’s size, and walked behind her. The elders think he might be trying to curry favour for the next mating season, assuming he hasn’t been eaten by then.”  
“Do you know which bull was the sire?”  
T’la-tula chuckled, running her hand over Sineth’s wide, flat face. The beast turned her attention to her rider, a pleasing rumble vibrating from her deep chest.  
“Virox, if you would believe it. Only answer for their colouring and patterns.”  
Vira frowned, taking note of the cubs thick hides and eyes tracing the almost blue-grey brindle that splashed across their skin.  
“He wasn’t supposed to be around the females while they were in heat.”  
“No, but good luck telling him that. He’s well over 6,000 lbs, and Hay’eth has done a terrible job training him. If he weren’t such decent stalk for breeding, the elders would have culled him and offered the hide as a gift to the Singing Mountain Clan Matron. Allaya Djo did just give birth after all.”  
Vira nodded in agreement, recalling the gift her mother had sent the woman. This would be her fourth daughter, a blessing of their people, and they had sent a prized rancor cub as tribute to the clan in congratulations. The cub would be set to bond with the girl-child as she aged, and the Matron would always have a reminder of the magnanimity of the Misty Falls Clan. Two gibbit birds with one stone, as it were.  
“Was there anything I could help you with, first daughter, or did you travel all the way out here to just catch up and gossip like old biddies? Not that I mind, mind you, but I feel like there could be plenty of more… _pleasurable_ things we could be doing with our time…”  
T’la-tula gave a slow sweeping glance along Vira, which Vira herself just chuckled at.  
“Maybe another time Tula. I’m actually looking for my sister. Have your scouts seen or reported anything?”  
“The second daughter? No, I’m sorry, there hasn’t been anything reported. Is anything the matter?” One heavily gauntleted hand reached for Vira’s shoulder in question and silent support.  
“No, just someone that seems to be shirking their duties. There is still one final place I can check, but I was hoping that by the ancestors she wouldn’t be there.”  
“Knowing that girl, she definitely is. Well, I hate to cut this short, but if there is nothing more, I need to finish my border patrol and the cubs needs the exercise.”  
“Of course, of course,” offered Vira, stepping back as the large rancor lowered herself down again. Rather than use the series of straps that were part of the saddle to climb into the seat, T’la-tula stood with her legs shoulder width apart and held up a dyed feather attached to a leather thong around her neck with painted whittled wooden beads.  
_“So like the wind, so like the breeze, take this form to float amongst the trees.”_  
The very air itself pulsed with energy and magick, twisting and rushing itself around T’la-tula before gather itself beneath her feet. She took two steps back before taking a running start and leaping higher than any normal person. Higher still than the seat of her mount, but she corrected and floated down gently on the back of Sineth. The great beast volleyed and stood on it’s two back legs, stretching well over 15 metres in the air, her heavy forelimbs darkened and tipped with deadly claws. The three cubs scurried around the legs of their mother before the beast gave a final huff and turned, clambering away now that it didn’t need the speed. The cubs tired to emulate their mother, still too young to be walking, but making valid attempts at it.  
There was only one other place in the expanse of their territory that Nen’tari could have gone to, assuming she didn’t disappear into the forestry like she had always threatened to. An empty threat at that, considering the dangers of their homeland.  
Not that the little fool would care.  
The day was gone and wasted when Vira finally found herself before the separate system of caves that existed on their land. They were difficult to navigate, and even more difficult to access. Practised after a lifetime of living by the falls, Vira climbed the cliff face that ran parallel to the greatest of their land’s falls. Icy spray cut her skin as she scaled, mindful of the stonework and her footholds until she came across the small jutting platform that lead to the temple. The guard was at attention and ready to strike against an intruder, but calmed when they recognized Vira.  
Vira was cold, she was hungry, and was at the end of her patience.  
“Is she in there?”  
The guards shared a perplexed look, before the one spoke up.  
“Is who, first daughter?”  
Vira, exhausted after climbing and cold in the dying light of their sun, just sighed loudly before standing straight.  
“Which means she is. One of you, with me.”  
The one guard stayed outside while the other followed Vira into the caves. Any natural light was gone with the sun, and the moons were weak this night, leading the guard to light a torch and follow just a pace behind Vira. The quiet of the place was cloying, it’s darkness all encompassing. They passed the occasional patrol, the sentinels standing back while their superior was roused from her chambers. The woman was barely dressed as she ran to meet Vira, bowing in greeting before taking the torch and sending the first guard back to her post.  
“Ma’am, I can assure you that there is no way the second daughter could have slipped by my patrols-”  
“And I am not doubting your belief in that, but Nen has a way of just doing things like this, existing while not in such a way that unless one actually scans for it, they won’t pick up the passive use of her magick.”  
Ahead a watery light was bleeding from an elaborately carved entryway, the blue motes dancing like waves across Vira’s feet. The captain extinguished the torch, placing it into a cauldron that held others like it by a shelf with a ready tinder box. The light wasn’t quite blinding, but here in this room it was heavily concentrated.  
The room itself was of midsize and made up of twelve stone walls. On each were carved murals depicting their clan’s history and the Teachings of Allya. Above, being the source of the strange light, was a large convex piece of clear glass. It magnified the moons’ light rushing over the thin stretch of river that say atop the chamber. Beneath this area on a large pedestal rested a white stone garden, carefully tended to, for in the centre grew the precious treasure of their people. A rare white stalk with a vivid red flower head twisting up to taste the moonlight. The flower wasn’t quite ready to bloom, but would be ready in the next few days easily.  
This plant, known to their people as the _sanguis bloom_ , was a rare and prized treasure. Once bloomed, the nectar offered by the plants held great healing abilities. It only bloomed once a generation, and was a delicate creature that would wilt in any direct sunlight. To keep it safe, the elders planted and tended them in this sacred space. Special insects were brought in to pollinate it when the time was ready, and it only produced 2 or 3 seeds upon its life cycle, making it incredibly rare. Kept in a different chamber was an elaborate puzzle box which held the collection of seeds from over six generations, totalling nine seeds in total.  
Of everything her people owned, this was its most precious belonging. This was the plant that ended the great disease that ravaged them all those years ago. It kept the pox away from their mounts and kept their children safe. It was priceless.  
And her worthless sister was sitting right next to it.  
“Nen!”  
Her sister flinched, head whipping to the side and dark eyes widening in shock. Her twin scrambled back, standing sharply and stepping away from the bone garden.  
She was looking in a mirror. Same red and black hair, a rarity amongst their people but excellent for camouflage. Same large, black eyes that held the night sky and all it’s nothingness. Same copper skin tone. It was all the same, and yet still all different. Vira’s hair was long and kept back in a severe plait that reached her waist, decorated with smaller braids that looked elegant but were functional while Nen’tari’s was short and wild, curling as it framed her face. Vira wore well kept cloth and leather garments deserving of her station while her sister was in simple tribe-garb, red and black with hints of brown. Again, it helped her blend in to their homeland. Vira kept ornaments in her hair, shaped metal and glass beads dyed with hints of blue and green as a reminder of their station while Nen only wore two small braids that hung in front of her ear which were tipped with whittled white beads, most likely made of bone. It was an embarrassment.  
The guard behind her stood at proper attention upon noticing the second daughter, face flushing in anger and embarrassment. She gave a deep bow to Vira.  
“My apologies ma’am! I will ensure the guards are reprimanded for allowing this to come to be!” The poor woman barked, face still lowered.  
“That might be the best idea,” murmured Vira, eyes still locked with her twin. “Leave us.”  
The guard kept low, taking three steps backward before exiting the chamber. She could be heard barking orders as soon as she left the sacred space.  
“Is this all a game to you?” she asked, eyes still locked while she started to make her way toward the garden.  
“Can’t say I understand what you mean, Vira.”  
“A full day I wasted looking for you, trying to find your sorry excuse of a presence and where do I find you but next to our precious treasure. You certainly have some nerve-”  
“Oh don’t give me that,” called out Nen’tari, scoffing.  
“Do not interupt m-”  
“Or what?” her twin sneered, her own face mocking her. “You’ll punish me. Take me to mother? You and I both know it’s not worth the hassle.”  
Vira bit down on her tongue, refusing to agree with her twin. It was true. Nen’tari was constantly in trouble with their mother, or outright ignored. The Matron had responsibilities far more important, so chastising the girl would fall to Vira as first daughter of their people. Any public shaming wouldn’t affect Nen, she just didn’t care about how the clan thought of her. The superstitious avoided her simply because she was the younger twin while those indifferent to that fact didn’t find it advantageous to interact with her. The second daughter’s family would become a branch family meant to serve the Matron and first daughter, a title that had been empty since the disease due to the fact that their mother was an only child. Any wife Nen took would become a servant while a husband wouldn’t be much worse off. Vira had been fighting off elders hoping to make a suitable match with her for years. His sister couldn’t say the same.  
It was said that when twins were formed, there was a strong one and a weak one. The stronger was born first, and any negative magick or energy carried in the womb would be expelled during the birthing process. However, this left the second twin, the weaker twin, as the recipient of it. The first born would be the pinnacle of their people while the second born would be an outcast. A cruel fate but accepted wisdom about why twins were so rare. It was a preferred fate to twin boys however, who were killed upon birth. Such a bad omen was not handled lightly.  
Vira’s shoulders visibly slumped as the whole day weighed on her.  
“Nen, I’m tired. I traipsed the entirety of our clan’s land looking for you, and I haven’t eaten since I broke my fast before aiding with the nets. That was when the dawn broke. Let’s just go home.”  
Nen looked like she wanted to argue, but she swallowed down whatever she was going to say. With a parting look to the bone-pale garden and its near ready tennant, the girl walked beneath the moons’ light to where her sister stood. Vira moved to the side and gestured for her to go first. She didn’t trust her sister not to make a run for it as soon as her back was turned.  
Rather than light a torch, Vira pulled a citrine from one of the small pouches along her belt. She focused on it for a moment, before calling out words into the open air.  
_“Breaking rays and blessed streams, hope of heart and wandering seams, I call to that which rests above, let light shine forth and gleam thereof.”_  
The citrine illuminated quickly, offering the gentle light of a lazy summer afternoon. She grasped it in her palm, mindful of the antechamber they had just exited, and walked further away until she was sure the magick light wouldn’t cause harm to the bloom.  
The guards they passed by had carefully blank faces and Vira caught the tail end of whatever chastisement the ones outside had gotten. The group of women stood at attention upon noticing the gleam of Vira’s spell, bowing in acknowledgement of her and noticeably not her sister.  
Vira extinguished the stone, comfortable with her night vision to wander the cliffside down. Her sister eyed the climb down, smirking at her before turning on her toe and throwing her arms out into the air. Vira and the guards audibly gasped as she tipped backwards, suspended for a brief second before plummeting down.  
Vira ran to the ledge, gripping the grey stone in a white knuckled grip as she watched her sister fall head first, arms still open, until she contorted her body and flipped around. Vira watched as her sister disappeared feet first into the mists at the bottom of the cliff, a known trap of boulders and shallow pools that would kill someone. Collective breathes were held until Vira caught the water rippling much further down as a body swam across it, cutting the mirror like surface.  
“Does she have a death wish?” hissed out one of the guards, earning the woman a glare from Vira. Vira gave one final look to the commander before turning to the ledge and slowly made her way down the slick and cold stone. Any heat had been leached by the moons and Vira remained vigilant with the promise of a long soak in the heated pool and her pallet after the whole ordeal.  
The climb took longer than it should have, and her sister had too much of a head start for Vira to have any hope of catching her if she disappeared.  
The moons’ watch nodded to her when Vira entered the edges of the village, returning their gaze to the mists and darkness that surrounded their home. Vira made her way through to the Matron’s quarters, nodding to the eight guards posted outside the entryway. Looks like the Matron was on the premise.  
The walls of their abode were lit with a mixture of torches and glowing stones, and Vira bowed to the Matron who was sat in front of the central fire pit. The area above was bespelled to force the smoke through a series of small chimneys that would expel it far enough away to deceive those looking for their tribe.  
“Vira,” acknowledged the Matron, familiar dark eyes roaming over her form, crinkling in mild displeasure. Vira knew her appearance was disheveled after how her day was spent. Normally such things were beneath their people, but Vira had dressed with the intention to travel to the Dreaming River Clan to improve the trade between their peoples. A journey which had been pushed to tomorrow due to her day’s adventures.  
“The first daughter greets the Matron with utmost respect,” Vira bowed at the waist, hand over her breast and the heart that beat beneath it.  
“Your sister returned first.”  
Vira tried concealing her flinch but the older woman caught the minute movement.  
“She tells me you went on an adventure. A curious thing, considering she returned soaked and you are wearing your diplomacy robes.”  
“Moth-”  
“Matron. In this, I am your Matron.” Her voice was cutting, glass and sharpened stone piercing with every word.  
“Matron,” Vira amended, still bowed and downcast. “It was not meant to be such a large deviation-”  
“And yet,” her mother called out, “you will be a day late meeting with the first daughter of the Dreaming River Clan. Kasina Hja has fifteen years of experience on you and is not a patient woman. Such a thing could cost us valuable trade!”  
Vira flew to her knees, refusing to acknowledge the sharp pain as they met the hard floor. She bowed, prone, her face pressed between the triangle made by her hands.  
“I have failed you, Matron.”  
“In this, you have. You have an hour to prepare before you ride out. All night if you have to, to make up the time. Look your best, and maybe you can save this deal. If she likes how you look, maybe she’ll be interested in taking your sister as a pleasure companion in your stead.”  
Vira swallowed down the argument that tried to rise, ears barely catching the shuffle of bare feet on stone from the direction of the sleeping quarters. Her sister had heard that.  
The second daughter was supposed to create a branch family that would serve her, keeping the damned fool close and safe. This, this would ruin that.  
“Of course, Matron.” Vira’s voice sounded hoarse even to her own ears.  
“Good,” replied the Matron. “Korrus, to me.”  
Korrus, who until that moment Vira had not noticed, was knelt to the side on a padded mat. He stood gracefully, hips swaying as he walked to the lounge next to the fire pit where the Matron was reclined. He knelt beside her, a faint flush starting to darken his cheeks and trailing down his exposed chest.  
“You are dismissed, Vira.”  
Vira stood, bowing once more to the Matron before she headed past the partition into the sleeping quarters. Mats had been hung to block out most of the light and noise of the antechamber, but the Matron’s moans still bled through, if slightly.  
Nen’tari’s partition was spread out around her space, and Vira could make out the sound of her trying to control her breathing. She was a terrible liar.  
Vari grabbed clean clothing before heading back through the hung mats, trying to ignore the sounds around the fire as she headed towards the warm pool. She bathed quickly, lathering her hair with perfumed oil before washing the suds out and scrubbing herself down. She wrung the excess water out of her hair, going about braiding it in a series of plaits before twining them and tying the ropes into a bun. Her second best robes were put on, and she checked that they hadn’t been damaged with time or wear.  
By the time she exited the room with the warm pool, her mother and Korrus had moved onwards to the smaller alcove she used if ever she wanted privacy. Mats were placed in front and muffled most of the sounds. Vira ran into the sleeping quarters, depositing her dirtied robes to be handled by someone else before turning to her sister’s partition.  
She had so much she wanted to say. Yet, Vira was cautious of the time, and with a final check to make sure she had what she needed, she left, heading out past the warm fires and guards towards where her mount had been waiting patiently all day. Her accompany stood at attention when they noticed her presence, and not a word was said about how they were running well over half a day behind schedule. Instead, Vira mounted her rancor, a dark brown female named Gontha, and directed the beast towards the south. They would follow the river until they found where the camp had been made up two days before for the diplomacy talks.  
There, Vira would try her best to better the lives of her people while not trying to sell off her sister into sexual slavery.  
Had Vira stayed, or maybe even said something, Nen’tari wouldn’t have spent the night stewing in her own mind, caught between tears of betrayal, anger, and fear. She instead would have slept the morning away, as was her usual instead of rising before the dawn and slipping out of her home in the dead period while the guards changed shifts. She wouldn’t have ducked through the mists and dodged patrols only to disappear into the crimson foliage of the east, dipping and weaving around the massive roots and swamps of her homeland until she came across the sleek metal craft that attempted to camouflage with the surrounding brush.  
She wouldn’t have greeted the strange being that emerged from the craft with anything but disdain and mistrust.  
Wouldn’t have spoken the words that sealed her fate.  
_“Fine. I’ll do it.”_


End file.
